


Dancing with lightning

by stargarnet



Category: Belly dancing - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Belly Dancing, Friends to Lovers, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 07:40:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargarnet/pseuds/stargarnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short relationship development fic with a belly dancing theme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing with lightning

Music greeted me as I let myself into the flat. I placed my keys on the sideboard as I entered the foyer, dropping my gym bag at my feet. The scent of food cooking drew me into the kitchen first, more interesting than the source of the music for my growling stomach. I cautiously lifted the lid on the slow cooker to be met with the tantalising aroma of a curried lentil soup. I smirked. It was her turn to cook. I couldn't really complain, the few times she had made me dinner there was always a not so healthy sized serving of steak for me. This was my first proper vegetarian meal with her. My own attempts at interesting meals for her ended up as salad. I frowned realising how poor my offerings had been.

We had met in her bookstore when I first arrived in town. Our mutual love of Tolkien, Gaiman, Pratchett and Adams, amongst others, had secured our friendship. Many a cup or glass of varied beverages had been consumed whilst discussing them.

We were so very different yet seemed to fit all the same. The idea of us becoming more than friends was something I entertained on the odd occasion though I was reluctant to given the sporadic nature of my work, moving from place to place regularly. I wasn't from the same country, let alone a local. Apart from that, I couldn't read her feelings on the matter. We were comfortable and affectionate with each other. Trust was assured. I had given her my house keys when I had to travel at one point and she offered to keep an eye on things. When I returned I told her to keep them. She responded the next day by giving me a set of hers. She was generous, kind and wickedly clever. She intrigued me and entranced me. If she wanted me, I could not deny her.

Replacing the lid quietly on the pot I heard firm steps followed by the squeak of pivoting feet on the hardwood floor. I had grown accustomed to hearing these sounds when she rehearsed with her troupe at the studio. I had never seen her practice at home. 

I quietly made my way down the corridor to the source of the music, hearing both light and firm steps and fabric brushing over the floor. As I approached the spare room that overlooked the small courtyard I considered walking in and surprising her, knowing she was not expecting my arrival yet. I had left the gym early to get to her place before the storm hit. I had only just beat it. I saw the lightning cross the dark sky outside her window as I peeked around the doorframe. There were no lights on in the room apart from the faint illumination coming from her iPad speaker dock, and thankfully very little light in the corridor I was standing in. It provided me with the concealment to watch her dance, undetected. 

The silhouette she threw against the surfaces of the room mesmerised me. I could see what I knew to be pale golden skin shimmer from a thin film of sweat. Her long dark hair swung between her shoulder blades as she moved. Belly dance, as she claimed her craft to be, was a poor description of what I was witnessing. I had seen her perform with her troupe but never on her own and certainly not like this. 

I watched as her arms rolled independently yet in perfect sync with each other. It was a serpentine effect that terminated in delicate hand movements that looked to be caressing the dark and embracing the lightning. What light there was accentuated the muscles that rippled over and between her shoulder blades, a wave of motion from one side of her back to the other. As she turned, her black skirt, which appeared to be a sarong, split to the hip revealing a pale shapely leg. Her hips rolled in a tight, internal circle which demonstrated such utter command of her body as I could only ever hope to achieve. The sarong sat low on her hips, revealing a length of torso which undulated to the hem of a smooth black bra. Her chest lifted as her arms and hands framed her movements, sweeping down over her face. The shadows highlighted her cheekbones, the hollows of her neck and shoulders. Her eyes were closed as she continued to move, in ecstatic communion with the music. Her features relaxed and tightened to the strain of the rhythm and motion, the occasional gasp or sigh breathed from the lips I wanted to claim. Pushing a hip out and pivoting on the spot she turned to face the window, arms outstretched as if to command and embrace the lightning stretching across the sky. She danced as the primal embodiment of woman, of goddess. Proud. Sensuous. Powerful. Earth. Air. Water. Her arms were open, beckoning the light and the storm, never ceasing her sinuous movement. Head thrown back the ends of her hair met her waist as her hips moved in a vertical figure eight. Collecting herself back in towards herself she swung about quickly to face the doorway. She stopped. She froze in position breathing heavy, her eyes locked on my form. 

I acted purely on instinct. I know not what I was thinking as I found myself kneeling in front of her. I gently placed my hands on her hips and rested my forehead on the sweat cooled skin of her belly. 

"Please," I pleaded to the goddess I held. I heard the soft silver sound of her bracelets as her fingers wound into my hair, cradling my head.

"Yes," she breathed over my head, "yes."


End file.
